


Immortalize Them In Song

by orphan_account



Series: Writer's Block [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bury them with me," he wants to say, while his body cries out for death. "Immortalize them in song."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immortalize Them In Song

**Author's Note:**

> Just a drabble I wrote to help me get past my current writer's block. Spoilers for the end of The Hobbit, if you haven't read the book.

Battle is the sound of drums, pounding fast paces in the ears of those clashing and colliding in a blur of red and brown. Battle is bloody, beaten, broken dwarves. Battle is death and life and everything in between. Battle brings out the worst in people, and the best in some others. 

Battle... battle is nothing to sorrow. The sorrow of fighting a winning battle but losing so much to it. Blood is rushing through Thorin's ears. His hands slide on his blade from sweat and blood. He's covered with mud and sweat, blood of both Orc and Free People. The enemies seem endless and yet their own numbers seem so few. 

He defends and attacks without thinking, instincts pushing and pulling his body like a brutal marionette. His gaze never leaves the next enemy for more than a second and he's long since lost track of his company and allies. He'll catch a glimpse of blond as he's shoved into a growing pile of corpses, a flash of fair Elven skin crusted with blood. 

Kíli and Fíli are nearby, he knows. They have never left his side from the very beginning and he understands, though he mourns. Things look so dim from here, an endless sea of death and anger. His sister-sons and he do not have a chance for survival and the three of them know that. Yet they fight relentlessly. As does everyone else. 

Something happens in the moment between heartbeats. He parries a blade, twists to attack, and is blindsided. Everything is searing red pain, hot and terrible. Thorin isn't sure where the injury is but he feels it all over himself, falling to the ground. All he can hear is his own cries of pain now.

His hands clutch around to find the wound, but there are so many. Too many. He remains on his back, breathing rapidly and deeply and trying to get back up. Fight. His vision is blurring with the effort he's exerting to even breathe.

It would be a mercy to pass out. But mercy is not with him in this, because he sees his nephews throw themselves into the battle before him with an anguished passion. 

He watches as Kíli takes a spear to his side, one that was meant for Thorin. Watches as the flesh is torn so deeply that he can see the muscle before the blood begins to rush out, his lifeforce. It makes him so sick. 

Thorin doesn't scream. Even when Fíli tries to drag his brother's body closer to his own, to protect them both, and ends up throwing himself in front of an arrow. It pierces through his throat and he falls to the ground on top of his brother and uncle. 

And still Thorin doesn't scream. Can't find the strength to do anything under the absolute weight of every emotion bombarding him at once.

Time seems to go slowly, and Thorin knows without needing to check that his nephews have died. Three centuries that are no more than an hour pass before Beorn arrives.

"Bury them with me," he wants to say, while his body cries out for death. "Immortalize them in song."

All he can do is stare at the sun and wait for unconsciousness to take him and give him this one small mercy.


End file.
